Mr. Charlene counted money in the dimly lit Copa, his fingers moving deftly as he stacked the bills with a soft rustle.
The soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards created an atmosphere of anticipation and solitude, and Mr. Charlene's eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light, his focus intense.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Mr. Charlene's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness.
A figure stepped in, silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from outside, and Mr. Charlene's gaze locked onto it, his expression wary.
"Who is it?" he called out, his voice firm and commanding, echoing slightly in the empty room.
He straightened, his shoulders squaring, as he waited for a response. "The Copa isn't open yet, pal. Scram!" he added, his tone firm but wary, his hand resting on the edge of the counter as if ready to defend his territory.
